Should have left him in the woods, she told herself. I could be in Townhill by now.
“I would not be so vexed were you not asking the same question over and over. He cannot hear you, leave him be.”
The cellar was surprisingly roomy, given it was full of old furniture and even older barrels of wine. The single lamp their captors had left with them hung above a disused hearth, which told Mairi this cellar may at one time have been a second kitchen. Someone had hastily placed three cots against one wall. There was water and a curtained off privy, but little else of any comfort – unless, of course, they could find a barrel tap and a cup in one of the old drawers; a mug of wine would go down well, Mairi decided, and if nothing else, it might shut Odaman up for a while.
“And I’ll keep asking until he answers,” she told Odaman. “He has a head injury, and there’s something wrong with his neck; I need him to tell me where it hurts.”
“So you can do what?” Odaman said. “You have no herbs, no bandages, no poultice: he won’t thank you for waking him.”
That was true. All they had was water and blankets.
Mairi looked down at the young man. He was barely Gialyn’s age. What could he have done to deserve such a beating? Odaman said he was a laig missionary, judging by the cut of his hair and the thin yellow band he wore around his head. Did Lord Breen have something against the legite temple? Were the missionaries putting up a fight? That did not sound very likely; the legites were a peaceful sect, all nature-loving vegetarians. How could they be a threat to Breen?
“Eat some of this cheese before it goes hard,” Odaman said. “It might be a while before they feed us again.”
Mairi cocked an eyebrow at the little man. Was he being nice to her? Maybe he did remember what she had done for him in the woods.
The young man was not going to wake up. The lump on his head spoke of a brutal blow; he was likely bleeding inside his skull. In truth, it was a wonder he was still alive.
“So close to Gialyn’s age,” she whispered.
What had happened? Eight months ago, they were preparing for Spring Feast. Daric was busy loading the cart with his beets and beans, Gialyn was brushing Pepa, and she was putting sweetrolls in a basket for Daric to share with the younger children of Albergeddy. What had gone wrong? Why were they all fighting for their lives? Gialyn was off the gods knew where, Daric was likely pulling his hair out and shouting at anyone in the palace who would listen, and she was hostage to a man who could beat a young man to death.
Gods, how she wished she could turn the clock back, insist Daric should not take Elspeth to Bailryn. That was when it all started; had Daric not agreed to that, they would all be home, likely waiting on Winter Feast. She would be soaking winter apples for the syrup pan, mixing mulled wine, and decorating the hall with holly berries and dawn thistle, not watching a young man die in some damp cellar a world away from home.
There was nothing she could do. The lad was going to die, and she would likely have to watch it happen. Mairi blinked away a tear and, wiping her cheek, she sat at the edge of her cot.
The cheese was already hard, but not so much she could not force down a few bites. There had been bread, but so dry was it, she had let Odaman have it all.
Cheese and water; she would be having bad dreams tonight. Not that she would be getting much sleep in that tiny cot with Odaman’s snoring and a young man dying not two paces from her bed.
“Do you want water?” Odaman asked.
“Not just yet, thank you. I had a cup while you were eating.”
Odaman tapped his plate. He was staring at his hand. Mairi waiting for another complaint, over the food or maybe the lumpy mattress they had given him, and so she was surprised when he said sorry.
“What for?” she asked. Truly, it was the only response she could think of.
“I know what you gave up,” he said. “I was awake, I heard what you said to Ally. Well, I heard enough of what you said. I’m sorry I could not follow, but it was just so cold. It is my fault you are here. Had I a spine, we would both be south of the river and on our way to Townhill. I have no excuse, other than that of a feeble man. I’ve never been strong, and when that wind whipped up around us I feared I would die of the cold. I don’t know, I just could not cope. It was such a shock. I am sorry.”
“Nothing to feel sorry about,” Mairi said. “Had we followed, they would likely have caught up, and Ally would be in here with us. They only stopped when they found us. They would have followed us across the river and tracked us down. It’s not your fault I am here.”
Odaman was still staring at his hands. He swallowed hard, then said, “Good of you to say, but we both know it is not true. Had you left, they would have found me, and while they tortured me for answers, you would have crossed the river and been long gone. And even if they did not torture me, I doubt those men were in any state to swim the river.”
That was true; Breen’s men had been exhausted, they would not have risked the freezing waters. Which made Mairi wonder how Ally had fared. Had she made it across the Broan? Was she lying dead under some hedge, frozen to the bone?
“Really, Tolas, you need not apologise. Had Ally not warned me what she was going to do, I might have fared little better than you had.”
Odaman raised his gaze from his hands. Frowning, he said, “She warned you? Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Well,” Mairi said, suddenly defensive. “She did not tell me what she was going to do, just to be ready. She said she knew a few tricks, I had no idea she was going to call up the wind.”
“She warned you? Why did you not—”
There was a loud click, and the door at the top of the stairs swung open.
“In the cellar,” a man’s voice said. “Come up here. His Lordship wishes to see you.”
Odaman’s frown turned into a cower. He looked from the stairs to Mairi and back. Then his eyes fixed on the young man. “He will want to know where Ally went, and when we can’t tell him…”
Mairi put a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry about that. If Ally is alive, she is long gone, and Breen will already know which way she is heading. Come, let us see what His Lordship wants with us.”
Odaman took a deep breath, nodded once, then, like an old man shuffling up a steep hill, he followed her to the stairs.
“Just the woman,” the man said. “You get back where you were.”
Glancing over his shoulder, Odaman made no attempt to hide his relief as he turned toward his cot. He mumbled something, then sat staring at the lamp.
Mairi did not bother asking what he had said – he was likely doing some praying, thanking the gods for sparing him a visit to Breen’s apartments. She straightened her skirt, then climbed the stairs.
The man who had called down the stairs was smartly dressed. Mairi thought she recognised him as part of Lord Breen’s retinue, likely his serving man, but she did not ask. Instead, she followed him through the kitchens to the stairs.
They passed a number of servants, all dressed in Breen’s livery. None were talking. Indeed, none would meet her gaze as she followed the smartly dressed man through the halls. Even in the kitchens, the maids had busied themselves with their duties. Never in her life had Mairi walked through a nobleman’s kitchen without at least a few maids following her with their eyes. Even in her mother’s house, the cook would make an excuse to talk, ask her where she had been and what she was up to. What was wrong with them? Were they all frightened of something?
They climbed the stairs, and Mairi tried to remember the last time she had visited the Breen estate. It had been years ago, a trip she had undertaken on behalf of her mother. What had the meeting been about? Grain storage? She could not remember. But she did remember the way to Lord Breen’s apartments – to his office, as he had called it – and was surprised they were not heading in that direction.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“The ballroom,” he said. “His Lordship is expecting company.”<
br />
“Company? Who?”
He glanced over his shoulder and shot her a wicked grin. “You’ll see.”
Mairi felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise. She had been excited for a moment, wondering who the guests might be – maybe the palace had sent someone – but the look the smartly dressed man had given her sent a shiver up her spine. She suddenly felt cold, and made a job of rubbing her arms. She would have to change her opinion of the smart man. He was not just some servant; whatever Lord Breen was playing at, this man was up to his neck in it.
“Here we are,” the man said. He gestured toward an open door. In the room beyond, Mairi could see two tables had been placed together to make a large square. There was food and drink on a smaller table off to the right. “Feel free to take a seat,” the smart man said. “His Lordship will be with you directly.”
“Am I to wait alone?” Mairi said. “Are you not worried I might run away.”
Again, he gave her the wicked grin. “No, I think I can trust you. After all, we have your friend in the cellar, and you have already proven how important he is to you.”
“Important? The man is a moron.”
The smartly dressed man laughed. “A moron, yes, but a moron you obviously care about. Why else would you have stayed with him?”
With that, the smart man about faced, and was at the stairs before Mairi could think of a clever answer.
Well, she was right about one thing; had she left Odaman in the woods, they would have likely killed him.
The ballroom was a big rectangle, six tall windows along one side, and a floor of polished oak. It was quite the setting for a meeting, but who were these guests? Mairi moved over to the window. If she had expected to see anyone approach from the wide driveway, she would have been disappointed. Indeed, there was nobody in the courtyard. Where were all the guards, the men who tended the wagons? When they had kept her in the guest house, she could not look through a single window without seeing a dozen men milling about the manor or the barn or that new building to the east. Now, all she could see were the gate guards and maybe two men guarding the stables. Had they all gone to meet these guests.
No, they would not send two hundred men to escort a guest.
A thought occurred to her. “Unless the guest is the king,” she said out loud.
Don’t be silly, the king would not come for me.
Whoever it was, they were already either in the manor or were still a long way off, for there was nobody on the Townhill road. Nobody but a dozen folk walking along the—
Mairi’s breath caught in her chest. It was Daric. She would know that walk a mile away. Daric had come to rescue her. Gods bless the man, he had come for her.
But where are the soldiers? A voice in the back of her mind said. “And who are those people with him?” she added out loud.
Abruptly, she knew what her husband was doing, and why Lord Breen had gone to the trouble of keeping her alive.
“No, Daric, don’t. Please don’t. Go back to the palace.”
Head in hands, she tried to will her message across the void, use that Voice everyone was talking about. What was Daric thinking? Whatever happened, she would not let him take her place.
CHAPTER 33
Surprises
“Where is everybody,” Brin asked.
Daric had wondered the same thing; the courtyard was all but empty.
They were by the gate to Breen’s estate. Across the courtyard, the manor house stood silent in the late morning sun. Daric saw two guards by the front door, and another man paced the ground in front of what looked like the kitchen entrance, but that was all.
Cal nudged Daric’s elbow, then nodded down at the muddy path where it joined the Townhill road. “Tracks,” Cal said, “at least thirty horses. And over there,” he pointed further along the road, at where a wooden float made a bridge over a drainage pit. “At a guess, I’d say fifty men crossed that bridge on their way south.”
“When?” Daric asked.
“In the last few hours.”
Aleria, who, up until then had been talking to Gaiden, stepped up to Daric’s side. “What was that you were saying about luck?”
Daric glanced down at the muddy hoof prints, then at the bridge over the drainage ditch. “I don’t like it. Where have they gone?”
“The tracks lead south,” Cal said. “There’s nothing down there, so either they are searching for something, or Breen has another camp we don’t know about.”
“Maybe, but I still don’t like it.” He turned to Aleria. “You did send the message?”
Aleria nodded. “Of course. I had that young legite leave the parchment with the gate guard.
“Then he knew we were coming. Why send away all but a handful of guards?”
“Yosil would have given him our numbers,” Cal said. “Breen would know there were less than a dozen of us.”
“Ah, damn,” Daric growled. “We should have thought of that. He would have no fear sending his men away. Gods, another dozen Rukin and we could have taken the manor.”
“Too late to worry about that,” Aleria said. “Come, we should not keep the man waiting. First rule of diplomacy, don’t upset the host.”
They turned to the gate, but Brin took a step back. “I don’t know,” he said, “I think you were right the first time, there’s something wrong about this place. Can you feel that?”
“Feel what?” Daric asked. All he could feel were his nerves, and the fear their plan would not work.”
“The air feels heavy,” Brin said, “like it was just before Orki attacked. It’s as if the air is too thick to breathe.”
“I can breathe perfectly well,” Aleria said. “You are just letting your imagination run away with you, Brin. Come, we should—”
“It’s not that,” Brin insisted. “It’s like Yosil said, there’s something powerful at work. A demon, maybe.”
Aleria stifled a laugh. “Brin, I’m surprised at you, saying such things. It’s just a case of the jitters. Really, you do not have the Voice, how can you possibly know—”
“I am of the Blood,” Brin said, “and I’m telling you, we should go back.”
“You can go if you want,” Daric said, “but we’ve come this far; I’m going the rest of the way – alone, if I have to.”
He turned to the gate, but Cal put a hand on his shoulder.
“Maybe we should listen to the man,” he said. “Brae’vis is not that far; if I took the dragons, I could come back with half a dozen woodsmen.”
Daric shook his head. What were they all thinking? He had expected a little trepidation from Brea’s father, but Cal?
“No,” Daric said. “I understand what you are saying, but if we turn around now, Breen will know we are up to something. We go ahead.”
Cal nodded, if reluctantly, and Brin sighed. “As you say, Daric.”
Aleria, who had been giving Brin a peculiar look, shook herself. “Well, if that little detour is settled, I suggest we hurry. I have no doubt they have spied us talking; if we dally, they will wonder what we are up to.”
Without waiting for a reply, she strode through the gate.
There were two more guards waiting inside the main entrance, and another stood behind a table to the right of the wide staircase.
“Weapons on here,” the third guard said, pointing at the table.
Daric unsheathed his blade and boot knife and placed both on the table, then watched as the others followed his example. Unsurprisingly, the guards were not satisfied with their offerings, and Daric endured a rough search.
He noticed Aleria was looking at him, likely wondering just where he had hidden the Tandrian blade. She bit her lip when the guard told Daric to take off his boots and shake them out. But there was nothing else in his boots, and as Daric calmly put them back on, he gave Aleria a shallow grin. “Don’t worry, they won’t find it,” that grin said.
Aleria did not look convinced.
* * *
“Take th
em to the ballroom,” Fa’rann told Bayon. “Tell then I will be there directly.”
“Sir? Are you sure that is wise? We are undermanned, they could—”
“Do as I say, Bayon, and hurry up about it. I have a busy afternoon planned, I want this distraction done with.”
“Yes, sir. My pardon.”
Fa’rann watched the man leave, then reached up under the mantle and open the secret door. The ballroom was on the other side of the manor and one flight down. Kasini followed as Fa’rann made his way along the hidden corridor and down the steps. Once at the alcove, he slid the small board to the side and peeped into the ballroom. The Re’adh woman had clearly been looking out the window. Now, she was waiting by the table of food and drink Bayon had laid out for their guests. The Re’adh woman was rubbing her hands together, both clasped in front of her throat. She was staring at the door, heel tapping on the polished floorboards.
The door opened, and she ran to her husband, crying all the way.
“Thank the gods you are safe,” the man, Daric, said.
Daric was bigger than Fa’rann remembered. Or rather, bigger than Lord Breen remembered. He was a solid man with a guardsman’s straight back and tidy appearance. Tidy, but for the dirty clothes he wore. He did not cry openly at seeing his wife, but Fa’rann thought he saw a tear well up in his eye. More, his bottom lip was quivering – Fa’rann smiled; this was going to be easier than he thought.
“I won’t allow it, Daric. What were you thinking?”
The Re’adh woman, Mairi, had stood back from her husband. She reminded Fa’rann a little of Vila’slae, all dark hair and deep eyes, although there was a softer look to Mairi, which was all for the good. Even now, staring at her husband, she betrayed the very weakness Fa’rann had seen in a thousand recruits – she was full of love, which, Fa’rann knew, meant she was also full of fear.
“Won’t allow what?” Daric said. He was smiling.
The Ship of Tears_The Legend of the Nine_Part One Page 38
